


rose from the big sleep.

by alright_alright



Category: South Park
Genre: Cemetery, Childhood Memories, Confessions, Death, Emotionally Repressed, Flashbacks, Ghosts, Ouija, Past Abuse, Pining, Swearing, i guess this is kind of a downer., it will have some fun flashbacks, still a lil banter, well it's bittersweet, where is the wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alright_alright/pseuds/alright_alright
Summary: Craig is dead. Tweek is holding onto a ghost.





	1. February 2004

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, i don't really know what i'm writing or how i will finish it but it's def more serious than i normally do. lemme know what you think (if you think i should continue or not lol). also, if you all could comment a word/prompt for me to go off of, it'd totally help in finishing this thing. if that's something you want. thanks dudes <3

_ 2004 _

The morgue closed an hour before his bedtime. Token tried to convince him that things would be alright, but Tweek didn’t buy into any of that shit. He always supposed he was going to be the one to die first. He thought that he’d go in a bathtub, or some river and he’d be found by a couple of kids all bloated days later. It’d take people a while to realize that he didn’t exist anymore.

He’s imagined a lot of different scenarios. 

He sits alone now with a ouija board, a nearly dried out bottle of rum and a fist full of singles. The police at the station had drained him of much of anything and now he’s bawling his eyes out, ruby red rims. They let him go, after Token showed them some legal shit that got Tweek out of there. Craig used to carry around an old tin can in his bag. He said he was keeping bees in there. Tweek still thinks that he was full of shit. Craig used to talk to Tweek like he wasn’t crazy, like he hadn’t painted his bathroom walls five times or bleached the front lawn. Like he’d never woken Craig up at two in the morning to watch the sun break in the sky, five times over, because he swore his parents would wager him if they ran out of money.

Craig spoke to Tweek like he wouldn’t dig up a grave, five times over.

Craig used to call him a friend.

His eyes are two small ghosts, with pupils reflecting dully and smoke under his nose. The repetitive  _ inhale exhale _ doesn’t work like it used to, maybe because there’s no nasally, wonderfully annoying voice telling him to keep sane. 

The strings just get caught up in all the machinery. 

Tweek would’ve followed that tin can anywhere, if it coupled with that hand. He would’ve let Craig lie to him, as long as it meant he wasn’t lying in the earth. He didn’t care how far those lies went or where else they’d been. Just as long as that voice was speaking those lies, slow and easy, like all the time in the world would never catch up to any of them.

Tweek liked those evenings and early mornings, even if he hadn’t slept more than three hours. It was quiet. It was breezy. It smelled like linen soap, cotton from the dryer and old candy wrappers. It was the rough smell of that house, Craig’s house, and the street they lived in. The places that they’d seen. Muddy footprints, charcoal charred hands and sometimes bloody ankles. After violence, always rain drenched, lemony and peroxide soaked. Healing. He had a sweet laugh.  

Tweek doesn’t see the point in holding onto any of this shit. He doesn’t see why he shouldn’t go down into the river right now. Right to the river, right to the ocean, right to bottom of it all. But there’s a body at the morgue, shut in a cold long refrigerator, that looks suspiciously like his best friend. A body that’s badly beaten, with a blow to the head. A body whose killer is still breathing. As long as his friend’s not exhaling, Tweek won’t be living. He will be walking, inhaling but he won’t feel sunshine again.

Craig had been dead for two days when they found him. 

The cops say Tweek did it. They’ve been trying to get him to confess for the last ten hours. The insanity plea, they say, he could live in an institution the rest of his life and wouldn’t that be nice? He could get out of that room, too, they already had enough evidence on him if he’d just sign the confession, just admit to what he did. They could all go home and put this day to rest. 

Token advised him not to say anything. He said they were bluffing, they didn’t have jackshit. Token’s doing poorly, but he’s still good at stone-faced in front of the cops and Tweek wants to admire him for it. Tweek tips the bottle back into his mouth, only tasting a few drops, until he leans back so far he’s lying on the ground. He chucks the empty bottle to the dirt and moves the ouija board under his head. 

_ If you wrote the roses in parables, I’d wake up.  _

“You’re dead.”

_ The big sleep. _

“Yeah.” 


	2. February 1998

_ February 1998 _

“I don’t mind talking to you, Tweek, you know that,” Craig inhales cold air, rubs his hands together and coughs. “I just don’t want to talk about  _ this _ . It’s not important.” Craig mutters, eyeing their surroundings. There aren’t that many people around.

“But, b-but your face is  _ so _ f-fucked up, man!”

“So?”

“ _ So! _ I have to l-look at that shit! It’s brutal!” 

“No one’s forcing you to look. You don’t have to look at me. You can look over there.” Craig gestures offhandedly at some trees. Tweek follows his finger’s line of sight. He furrows his brows. 

“Fuck that, I d-don’t wanna look at nature,” Tweek sighs and glances back at Craig’s broken up face. “I already have,  _ ngh _ , more than e-enough tree friends. Doesn’t your eye h-hurt?” 

“No, it feels like a drop of sunshine. Yes, it hurts.”

“Wh-who do you keep fighting with? Can’t you tell me that at least? I can, I can back you up. I would.” Craig eyes Tweek, a small bit of amusement on his face. Like he doesn’t believe Tweek could be of much help.

“No,” Craig says, a bit darkly. “No, you can’t help. It’s nothing big, don’t worry. Just a stupid fight.”

“W-well, you’re stupid so that makes sense,” Tweek jokes. Craig struggles to smile, but he still passes it off well enough for Tweek to believe him. Their bus arrives and they clobber onto it. “Can I still,  _ ngh _ , come over? Did I offend you?”

“How about we go to the movies instead?” Tweek scrunches his nose up. 

“Too many  _ p-people _ .” He whispers, eyeing all the passengers on the bus. Craig knows he’s assessing everyone, for ghosts and paranormal shit. Aliens, FBI. That sort of thing. He should really stop watching  _ the X-Files _ .

“We can sneak into the drive-in.” They sit next to each other. Tweek gets the aisle seat, like always. 

“W-wait, in North Park?” Craig nods. Tweek grins to himself and taps his toes. “Y-yeah, yeah, let’s go.” 

“Cool.” Craig smiles, though it’s faint. Tweek nudges him. 

“You g-good, man?”

“Peaches.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. Did you do O’Riley’s homework yet?”

“Fuck no.”

“I did.”

“Of c-course  _ you  _ did, you’re a super smart. Others, we have to work at it.”

“I can help you.” 

“Y-yeah? Would you?”

“I said I would, dummy.” 

“Thanks, man!” 

“Sure. You just gotta help me with my English homework. It’s a paper.”

“What book is it on?” Tweek glances into Craig’s bag, looking a little greedy. Craig opens it up and takes out a book, handing it to Tweek. He also takes out this old tin can and holds it in his lap. Tweek looks at the book, tosses it around in his hand and starts humming to himself. Craig could get lost in that sound. He knows he’s not supposed to but he could. “This is a, a good one.” 

“I couldn’t get through it.”

“Did you even,  _ ngh _ , try? Be h-honest.” Craig handles the tin can gently. 

“I read the first line.” Tweek shakes his head, slightly disappointedly. Craig shrugs. “I’m not good with interpreting shit.”

“W-well,  _ yeah _ , but this is, it’s g-gold, dude. It’s all about government corruption in the future and b-book burning. It’s  _ really  _ good. When’s it due?”

“Monday.” Craig says, a bit sheepishly. Tweek gasps. 

“ _ My god _ , Craig!” 

“I know.” He’s still looking at that tin can, turning it carefully and Tweek gets distracted.

“What’s in there,  _ ngh _ , anyway?”

“Bees.” Tweek narrows his eyes.

“You lie.”

“No. There are bees in here. I promise. Pinky promise.” The bus comes to a stop, and Craig carefully puts the can back in his bag. Tweek gets up to let Craig off. 

“Wh-what time tonight?”

“Seven?” He asks, pulling his hat further down and blocking his shoulders up. 

“Okay. Want me to, to come to yours at seven?” Craig’s headed off the bus.

“No,” Craig frowns. “I’ll meet you at the shop.”

“Oh, right. Okay, man.” Craig leaves the bus. He watches it take off, pats his bag and thinks about things he knows he shouldn’t. It’s best to let these thoughts stray as far away from his house as possible. They’ll get stomped out the second they reach the front door. The walk home from the bus stop is cold and far too short. He can see lights in the kitchen. Craig’s house is not a young house. There’s a hole in the roof and the drain that won’t drain. Craig knows there’s a man in there that hunts the rooms, leaving muddy prints in the cooling seasons. The floorboards have trenches, the basement hides secrets in the earth, hungry and ancient. This is a house that makes a cave out of youth. 


	3. February 2004

Token stands in front of the woods. These are the backwoods of their hometown. The woods that all of them would use to get to North Park late Friday nights. Craig found the route. He was always a good scout. Token still has the old compass Craig fixed up for him back when they were sixteen. He pulled it out late this morning, after staring into the bleak sky, disbelieving everything. It was blank, everything was dull. The air was stifling, but damn, that compass still worked. 

Craig would have laughed at Token, at his disbelief.  _ Of course I’m dead, you saw the body, didn’t you? No pulse, no breathing, no  _ nothing _. Dead. _

Yeah, he did see the body. Craig’s body. Something that belonged to his friend, at one point. A person who lectured him about the importance of the Space Race. He had to identify it. He went along with Tweek and threw up in the bathroom before composing himself to defend his childhood friend in front of prejudiced cops. 

Token feels the breeze now and he can see Tweek. 

If he squints really hard, he can pretend Craig is next to him. Just like old times. 

Tweek’s lying in the dirt, eyes wide open and for a minute, Token is worried he’s lost another one. He walks up to Tweek and sits next to him. 

“Nice night.” 

“You don’t have to bullshit me.” Tweek croaks. Token tightens his mouth and nods his head. 

“They’re not going to let go of his…” Token takes a while with the word. “Body. Not until they get more leads. They’re waiting for the, uh,” Token clears his throat. “All the autopsy results. We can’t bury him yet.”

“I’m their only suspect, right, Token?” Token bites his lip. “Just be honest.”

“Yes.” They both sit in silence for a long time. They watch the planets and constellations shift. Hours seem to pass. Token can’t believe how long it’s been since he saw the night sky, just watched it. “The last time I did this was in senior year of high school.” 

“C-Craig,” Tweek stutters and strains. It’s unusual. He hasn’t spoken like that since college. Tweek seems very frustrated by this. “Craig,” he tries too hard to say it evenly. “And I were here a lot.”

“I should have seen you both more.”

“You were busy.” Tweek’s crying again and Token feels his own eyes leaking a bit. “I didn’t kill him, I’d never hurt him.”

“Tweek, I believe you. It’s just that,” Token sighs. “The  _ police _ don’t trust your background.”

“I’m not psychotic. That stay in the ward was not,” Tweek starts breaking up his voice again. “I was suicidal, not a serial killer.” 

“I never thought you were.” Token says honestly. He sighs heavily. “You know that can Craig always carried around?” Token asks, remembering his high school days. They’re something he can barely reach, but boy, are they bright. “I never found out what was in there. Every time I asked, he told me something different. The last time I saw him,” Token breathes in deeply and smiles a little. “He said that it was snow from two winters ago.”

“Bees.” 

“Huh?”

“Bees, he said. He only told me bees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey dudes! prompts or like a couple words that you have might inspire me to tie this story up! i have a few more chapters that are kind of close to done, but i'm still unsure where it's going. i never usually post a story without finishing it so this is a journey we're all gonna be on. ;) lemme know what's up with you all and thanks for reading. <3


	4. March 1999

_March, 1999_

The senior class is buzzing, like gnats. Tucker got suspended for throwing a fist at Donovan. Everyone thinks it was all over Bebe. Token knows better.

Tweek hasn’t stopped twitching and screaming into his jacket. He says he’s only stressed, _just picking colleges, man_. Token knows better.

There’s an array of old butterfly cuts all over his arms, paperback novels from the 1960s, and typewriter keys leaving imprints on his forehead. His eyes are glued to text, but his mind is running to something that smells like fresh cotton and must.

“I’m okay with it.”

“W-what? With _what_?” Tweek sighs exasperatedly, looking at Token through bagged eyes and fairly dilated pupils. He’s got coffee cups everywhere, mostly empty or partially full. They’re doing homework and have been pretending their friends are acting normal for the past two days. Token hates pretending.

“With, you know, what happened. With Craig and Clyde.”

“I d-don’t g-get what happened --- I m-mean, w-why didn’t _Clyde_ get s-suspended, t-too? He s-started it! Th-that’s what Craig, th-that’s what he told me."

“I don’t know,” Token says, as he thinks about. “I overheard it happen. I was in the locker room, too.” Tweek drops his books and fumbles for his coffee. His eyes are widening.

“W-what’d you h-hear?”

“They yelled at each other. Craig punched Clyde, Clyde hit back. They fought.”

“L-like what? I, I mean, what did they, _ngh_ , say?”

“Clyde kept saying he knows, that was all I could get out of it,” Token says slowly and looks at Tweek carefully. “Craig’s been so angry lately. Maybe a couple days off will be good for him.” Tweek paces.

“Why, why would you say _that_?” Tweek asks, more to himself. He frowns and leaves the room. Token stares after him, before returning to his homework. Yeah. Token is okay with it. Tweek wanders back in, with more coffee and Token rolls his eyes.

"He yelled at me for drinking a carton of milk, Tweek. He's been really pissed lately."

"He never yelled, he's never yelled at me."

"Okay, well, he just thinks you're special, I guess."

" _What_!"

"I said, he just thinks you're special."

"I don't know, I mean, I don't know, maybe I j-just don't piss him off?"

"Maybe." Token says, doubtfully. "I'm sure that's part of it. I'm sure there are other reasons." Token shrugs and continues his math problem. "Did you get number five yet?"

"L-like, like what?"

"Huh?"

"What are the other, o-other reasons?"

"Well, you know."

"I'm asking you so no, I don't know!" There's a ferocious tapping on Tweek's window and he jumps, startled. Token stiffens when he sees that stupid hat. He starts to gather his things. Tweek opens the window and relaxes. "Oh, it's just you."

"What the hell kind of a greeting is that?" Craig asks as he climbs through the window. He looks sleep deprived, rain drenched and a little dazed but he seems okay, aside from his bruised up face. Token is used to seeing that lately. "Hey Toke." Craig nods. 

"Hey, Craig." Craig looks at Token's bag.

"You leaving already?" Craig asks. 

"I have to get home in time for dinner."

"I th-thought, thought you were staying here for dinner?" Tweek asks, confused. 

"No, remember, man? I told my mom I'd be back. She's making my favorite. Pesto."

"O-oh. Yeah, right. Y-yeah, I guess. I'll see you Monday?" Token's agreeing and saying goodbye, out the door before either of them blinks. Tweek looks at Craig, who's been staring at him for a long time. "Wh-what's your deal?" 

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Craig smiles. 

"You look k-kind of dopey, man."

"Really? I thought I looked dapper."

"You wanna stay the night? I need help with my math homework." Tweek goes to his closet and starts pulling out some clothes. He tosses them at Craig, who fumbles to catch them.

"Won't your parents mind?"

"Nah, they're out of town for a while," Tweek eyes Craig. "You should change, you're gonna g-get all sick and die."

"Everyone dies."

"Yeah, b-but e-everyone except you and me. I plan on l-living forever and I need a sidekick."

"Like," Craig takes off his coat. Tweek yanks off his hat. "Hey!" 

"There's no way you're wearing that." He takes a clothespin and pins the hat up off of one of the strings hanging in his room. "It's soaked, dude! I'm not letting you get s-sick. Your funeral would be unbearable."

"You sure about that? I think people would be laughing."

"Why do you say that, Craig?" Tweek frowns. 

"I was just joking, honest." Craig says and Tweek almost believes him. "Honest." 

"You look funny without the hat. I always f-forget what your hair looks like."

"Well, now you see why I wear the hat."

"N-nah, you don't need it." Tweek says, offhandedly and heads out of the room. Craig's feeling a little warm, not just from the comment but also from the bottle of tequila he brought with him. He changes and feels funny in Tweek's clothes. 

"Want to have a drink? Celebrate me kicking Clyde's ass?" Craig asks as he walks out of Tweek's bedroom room. He finds Tweek sitting in the living room, on the floor. Tweek's never liked chairs. Thinks they're going to break under him or something. Craig doesn't really know the reason. 

"You really,  _ngh_ , r-really wanna celebrate that? What even happened?" Craig rolls his eyes. 

"Boring shit. Private shit. Nothing important. Want a drink?" Craig offers the bottle to Tweek. 

"Illegal shit?" Tweek asks, incredulously.

"Bordering on that, maybe. He asked for it, dude." Craig sits down across from Tweek, who's eyeing him funny. 

"How full was that bottle before it met you tonight?"

"Comfortably full. Want some?"

"No thanks."

"Baby." Craig mutters and takes a slug. Tweek frowns. 

"I'm not a baby."

"Prove it." Craig offers Tweek the bottle. 

"I'm not a sucker either." Tweek says, with his eyebrows raised. Judgmentally. 

"That's funny," Craig takes another sip. "That's what I told Clyde." Tweek tries to connect the dots, but can't seem to place things in time. "Told my dad that, too. Before I took the truck tonight. He said I'm," Craig looks away and wipes his mouth. "It's fine. Wanna play a game, buddy?" Craig directs at Tweek. 

"What, wh-what kind of a game?"

"The one where I drink," Craig slurs. "And you tell me not to. And then I pass out and forget about the fact that I'm suspended."

"O-oh,  _that_ game. I'm not s-so good at that game." Tweek grabs the bottle and takes a sip. He hisses. " _God, that burns._ " Craig laughs. "Here, take your shit back." 

"Baby." Craig says again, with less animosity and a lot more fondness. Tweek twitches his left eye.

"I g-guess. Least this baby didn't get suspended."

"Hey now, he asked for it."

"And I still don't know what he did to ask for it!"

"It's fine, dude, it doesn't matter. It was stupid shit."

"W-was it," Tweek seems to struggle asking this question. "Was it about Bebe, l-like everyone said?" Craig looks at him, somewhat sympathetically.

"Tweek, why do you listen to rumors? You know more about me than any of those rumors will ever tell you."

"I don't know. I just thought. I don't know," Craig sniffs and Tweek's alarm goes up. "Are you s-sick?!" 

"I think it's just a little cold."

"Just a cold! Dude, are you sure it's not a flu? Do you know how many p-people the flu kills?!"

"Not that many?"

"Craig! Dude, don't, you just, _okay_!"

"Sorry?"

"You can't die, okay?"

"Well, I mean, I'll try not to but like, it's gonna happen eventually, Tweek."

"We g-gotta stop it, then!"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I like you, man. We get along swell. We're friends, of course, I want you to stick around." Tweek shakes his head. He gets up to make Craig some tea, even though he hates tea. "Jeez, you ask stupid questions." Tweek pats Craig's head as he walks by him and the feeling makes Craig happy to be alive, even though he's trying not to let it. 


	5. March 2004

_ March, 2004 _

“Do you have to pick at your food like that?" Clyde asks, through disgusting mouthful of food. "It’s gross. Just eat the damn burger.”

“I’m not --- I don’t want to eat  _ this _ .”

“I thought you’d be hungry. You came a long way.”

“I’m not. I don’t eat this. It’s depressing.” Tweek says, pushing the plate away. “Why’d you call me here?”

“I thought we should go out to eat, like old times.”

“I never ate anything here. I don’t eat meat.”

“Sorry, guess I remember it wrong. I haven’t seen you or Craig in a,” Clyde sighs. “Long time.”

“Six years.”

“‘Member junior year? ‘Member when Craig hotwired his dad’s old truck and brought us all to the junkyard?”

“I don’t see the point in talking about this.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“I can’t, can’t  _ talk _ about this, man.”

“Hey, Tweek,” Clyde says, somewhat concerned. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“For _what_ , Clyde?”

“For all the shit I said about him. He was a good guy, all in all. He had some fucked up baggage. My shit didn’t help. I know that now,” Clyde looks out the diner’s window, wiping his hands absent-mindedly on a grease-covered napkin. “He didn’t deserve what happened.” Tweek wipes at his eyes and nods. 

“Yeah.” Tweek says quietly. 

“Do they know who did it?”

“Their story is that I had a psychotic episode and I beat my best friend to a pulp. That’s what they want me to confess to.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You two were so close. I always thought,” Clyde coughs and shakes his head, uncomfortably. “You two were close.”

“He was my best friend.”

“Sure.” Clyde says, disbelieving that response. “I’m sorry, Tweek. I wish I could’ve,” Clyde sighs and shakes his head at the thought. “When is the funeral?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you _not_ know?” Tweek glares at Clyde. 

“His family hates me. I doubt they’re going to tell me when it’s happening,” Tweek looks at his hands. “They’d probably tell you. They always liked you better.”

“Why do you say that?” Clyde frowns.

“You got Craig out of the house. You had girlfriends and, and, no  _ medications _ . I just,” Tweek bites his nails. He sighs. “I just pissed everyone off.”

“Craig didn’t give two shits what his parents said. He always had a soft spot for you. ”

“Would you, would you ask them?" Tweek wrings his hands together, nervously. Pitifully. "They have the rights to his body now.” Tweek fumbles with his napkin. “I’m trying to say goodbye. It’s really difficult.” Clyde looks at him sympathetically. 

“Of course. I’ll ask, Tweek.”


	6. New Year's 1999/2000

_ New Year's 1999/2000 _

“What in God’s name are you doing? Do you know what time it is?”

“I bought this,” Craig holds up a bottle of whiskey and he slurs. “And ’m gonna walk straight down these stairs here.”

“The fuck you are.” His father says, grimly. Craig’s father is an angry drunk. He’s barely sober. Tonight, he’s had nothing and he’s still an asshole.

“I bought it, I drink it.” Craig mumbles, a little less sure of himself. 

“You really bought that, huh? Give it here.” His father reaches to grab the whisky bottle but Craig stumbles backwards with it.

“Fuck off?” Craig means to shout, though it comes out timid. His father roughly takes the bottle and pushes Craig into the wall, like he’s some sort of fly that is pestering him and needs to be swatted. He’s focused on the bottle. 

“You cheap ass son of a bitch.”

“You’re talking about your wife.” Craig laughs from the floor. Craig’s father looks at him coldly. 

“How old are you now?”

“What do you care?”

“Who’d you suck off for this shit?” Craig sobers at the accusation. 

“I’m going out,” Craig tries hard to get up and falls a few times before he actually makes it standing. Once he’s at the door, his father throws the bottle at his head. It misses and hits him in the shoulder instead, before it lands on the carpet. “The fuck,” Craig says, to himself more than anyone else. Craig picks up the bottle and knows his father is watching him. He looks up and sees his father staring at the TV again. “I’m not coming back tonight.” He says slowly, wondering if his dad might show a little bit of empathy. 

“Figured.” Craig slams the door and makes a painfully dull journey on the street. The lights are golden, the air is cold and Craig forgot his sweater. And hat, where did that damn hat go? Oh _yeah_ , he let Tweek borrow it. Made Tweek borrow it, he guesses. Tweek rings nice in his fuzzy mind and he figures he should look around for him. He walks the streets until he spots that old house. The window on the second floor. The light’s on and Craig thinks he could knock on the front door but his shoulder’s hurting a little and he just wants to see Tweek. He doesn’t want to see his wacky parents. He climbs up the path to Tweek’s window, and after a lot of mistakes, he makes it. He starts tapping gently and when there’s no response, he opens the window for himself. 

This probably borders on stalking territory but whatever. He’s surprised Tweek left it unlocked.

“Tweek,” Craig whispers or, thinks he’s whispering. “Tweek.” He says again, looking around the room. It’s not a large room at all, but it’s filled with books and it’s hard to find Tweek among them, sometimes. Craig frowns until he sees Tweek in the last place he’d look; asleep and finally, peaceful. “Oh.” Craig says, to himself and stumbles over. There’s some old novel in Tweek’s hands and Craig, even drunk, doesn’t really have the heart to wake him up. He sighs and sits down, as carefully as he can with this much alcohol, and lifts up his bottle. 

He starts drinking and keeps staring at Tweek, wondering why the hell he feels this way. It’s a warm feeling, still, through all the melancholy of his situation and he thinks he could be happy some day. If he locks all these things away and drinks only when Tweek’s sleeping, he could be happy. Content, at least. Craig leans in to get a closer look at what peacefulness is on the face of his friend (could be considered stalking but whatever) and drops his bottle. “Fuck.” He mutters and scrambles to pick the damn thing up. Tweek stirs. His eyes twitch open. Craig coughs. Tweek widens his eyes and jumps up, book flying to the end of his bed. Craig laughs. 

“ _Jesus Christ_! What are you doing here?!” Tweek yelps.

“Can’t I visit my friend on New Year’s?”

“Are you, are you,” Tweek sniffs and closes his eyes, looking irritated. “Drunk?”

“No, no, I’m just having some sunshine, is all.”

“Christ, Craig. It’s,” Tweek looks at his clock, an old thing from the seventies. Everything in Tweek’s room has lived longer than he has. “Four in the morning.”

“Now you know how I feel when you wake me up.”

“I guess. Why are you drinking?”

“Can’t I drink to say I’m happy?”

“Sounds like addiction,” Tweek gets up and takes the bottle out of Craig’s hands, gently. “Why don’t we get some sleep, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna go home. I was just there.” Craig says, sadly. 

“I didn’t, d-didn’t _ say _ you had to go home. You can sleep here, as long as you promise not to puke or piss in my bed.” Tweek’s pulling his covers off the bed and putting his books all over the floor. Craig watches him, mesmerized. 

“Why are you so nice, Tweek?”

“Wh-what, what are you talking about? I’m not nice.”

“Yeah, you are. I’m just an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole, man.” Tweek mutters. He turns to face Craig and offers his hand to help him up. “C’mon, you gotta sleep all this off.” Tweek manages to get Craig to lay down and he takes his shoes off. 

“You’re so sweet.” 

“Uh huh.” Tweek mutters and tucks Craig’s shoes under his bed. 

“I really mean it. No one else, Tweek. There’s no one else.”

“What are you talking about,  _ ngh _ , now?” Tweek asks, moving his books and shutting his window.

“They don’t get me. You’d never think I was a disease, would you?” 

“Why would I think that?”

“Others have. I don’t know. It’s a common comment about me lately.”

“Well, you’re not a disease, man. I think I’ve, th-think I’ve met them all. None of them look like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” Tweek hums to himself as he shuts off some of his lights. He sits down at his desk and Craig stares at him.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I can’t fall asleep now.”

“I’m sorry.” Craig frowns. Tweek glances at him, those dilated eyes look pretty sincere in their apology. 

“Don’t, d-don’t worry about it, man.” Tweek says, watching Craig briefly before pulling out a book, some heavy-duty looking thing on the Cold War. He’s taking notes and reading quietly, thumbing through the pages. 

“Would you read aloud? Would you read a book to me?” Craig asks, after a few minutes have passed. Tweek scrunches up his nose. 

“I thought you hated interpreting shit.”

“I like you, though.” 

“O-oh, uh, I like you, too, man?”

“What about this one?” Craig picks up some book haphazardly. Tweek rushes over to grab it from him. 

“Don’t break the cover. It’s old.”

“What’s not old in this room, ‘sides you?”

“It’s f-fragile, is all, Craig.”

“I’m sorry I’m a,” Craig sighs heavily. “Fuck up.” Tweek sets his book down and gets a different one. Newer. “I’m trying to get better.”

“D-don’t say that shit. You’re not. Here,” Tweek hands him the book, a thick little novel. “This one’s younger than us. I’ll read _ , ngh, _ it to you, weirdo.” Tweek’s about to sit down in his chair and Craig pulls on his arm. 

“I’m cold.” Craig says simply, like that explains anything. 

“You have a blanket.” Tweek points at his bed, somewhat awkwardly. 

“It’s not doing a good job,” Craig shrugs. “I can hear you better if you’re closer.”

“O-okay,” Tweek exhales brokenly. He sits down and wiggles to fit. He opens the book, feeling very aware of the fact that Craig is breathing evenly on his ribcage. “This is a good one.” Tweek says, looking down at Craig. His eyes are closed now but he could be smiling. 

“It’s always a good one to you.”

“W-well, yeah, man, b-but this one’s,” Tweek shrugs. “Special.” Tweek flips through the book and begins reading aloud. Soon enough, Craig’s fast asleep and Tweek’s letting his own eyes relax a little. It’s five in the morning and his room smells like shitty tequila. Craig isn’t driving drunk somewhere, at least he’s still exhaling. This is enough for Tweek.


	7. March 2004 Funeral

_ March, 2004 Funeral _

Tweek has been staying up lately seeing if he can catch a ghost. The ghost has no face, only a faraway voice that sounds suspiciously like his dead best friend. He fades into the morning and appears at dusk.

Tweek feels uncomfortable in the suit. He never wears suits. They’re tight and constricting but he needs to see Craig off. He needs to see him dive into the ground. Craig would’ve laughed at him, he  _ probably _ is laughing at him from the other side. Laughing at the whole situation. Laughing at how awkward Tweek is. 

Everything hurts. 

Tweek needs to believe in something and now that Craig’s gone, it might as well be death. He’s gotta see the box go in the dirt. 

Craig’s mother is sober. Ruby is fuming. Tweek’s been avoiding them. They’re convinced he did this, like he could be capable of hurting Craig. Like he'd ever want the ocean of a voice to stop rushing, like he'd want those eyes to stop moving. He catches Ruby’s eyes first and he could jam his whole fist in his mouth but he doesn’t. 

“Hi, Ruby.” He mutters as she approaches, instead. Ruby gives him narrowed face, flat and devoid of any emotion besides resentment in response. It reminds him of the looks that Craig used to give off when something had spoiled his day and isn’t that a nostalgic feeling? Mrs. Tucker is close behind. “H-hello, Mrs. Tucker.” 

“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Tucker sighs heavily, like she’s very worn out. Tweek understands where Craig got his lying habits from. She’s good. She’s brusk and she looks surprisingly upset. Tweek pulls at the strings on his fingers and looks around. 

“I want to,” Tweek sighs heavily. “I want to say goodbye. He was my best friend.” Tweek says, realizing how strange it is that he’s said that more now that Craig doesn’t exist. 

“Who told you to come?”

“Does it really matter? Can’t we just, can’t we get along for today?”

“You’re the reason that I have a dead son. I kept telling him to stay away from you. I knew you’d snap.”

“I never, I could never hurt him. He was my, my,” Tweek rubs at his face. “I couldn’t ever hurt him.” He looks at Ruby. She’s still fuming. “Ruby. You know that, don’t you?” She looks away from him, clicking her tongue. 

“Haven’t you done enough already? Can’t you let us remember Craig how we knew him?” Ruby pleads. Tweek thinks back to how Craig knew his family. Ruby was barely around, his father was abusive and his mother was oblivious. All of them were ignorant and felt fucked over by the world.

“H-how,” Tweek frowns. “How could you know him?”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Tucker asks.

“You didn’t, didn’t see him smile, much.”

“For the sake of everyone, it’d be best if you didn’t stay.” Mrs. Tucker says, tight lipped. Tweek nods, in a daze. He can’t say he’s surprised. That family made it very clear how they felt about him for years. He just figured they’d let him say goodbye, at least. Considering everything. 

Tweek leaves the gravesite. The last thing he wants to do is cause a scene while they put him in the ground. Craig’s father is standing by the cemetery gates. Tweek prepares himself to walk by. The man is not sober. He has no trouble confronting Tweek. Tweek smells the beer on his unwashed face and it’s a familiar scent. 

“What?” Tweek asks, backing away. 

“Can’t handle the funeral either, huh?” Tweek shakes his head and thumbs up the hill, to where the box looks so small. 

“They, th-they don’t want me to stay.”

“Oh,” He runs a hand through his thinning hair and Tweek looks at the dirt. “You didn’t kill him. I know that.” Tweek, confused, scoffs.

“You’re the only one, the only one that believes me,” Tweek rubs his hands on his face. “I miss him so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Tweek glowers. 

“I never liked you much. I always admired your guts, though,” Mr. Tucker sits on a large hunk of granite and pats the stone. “Sit down.” Tweek does so, only because it means he can be a little closer to the ceremony. “You were good to my boy.”

“Someone had to be nice to him.”

“Can’t believe he’s gone.”

“You still have Ruby to shit on.” Tweek offers, bitterly. 

“I,” Mr. Tucker glares ahead at nothing. He does seem genuinely upset and this is the most surprising thing to Tweek. “I never meant to hurt him. The world’s ugly, Tweek. I was,” He frowns. “Trying to raise a strong kid.”

“You made it ugly. You really did.”

“I know that now.” Mr. Tucker pulls out a bottle from his coat jacket. He sloshes it and takes a sip. 

“Now that he’s dead.” Mr. Tucker hands the bottle to Tweek. Tweek takes it and looks at it suspiciously. He sips it slowly. “Did you,” Tweek sighs. “Did you find an old oil can in his room? He used to carry it around in High School.” 

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t been there since he was in High School. Can’t really handle it now,” Mr. Tucker gestures for the bottle. Tweek hands it to him and watches as he gulps back another. “I remember that can,” Mr. Tucker rubs his chin. “Never found out what was in it. That boy was damn secretive.”

“D-do you blame him?” Tweek puts his hand out for the bottle. Mr. Tucker hands it over and Tweek takes a mouthful. They trade off the bottle. 

“No, I suppose not.” Mr. Tucker says, somewhat reflectively and Tweek is amazed by the fact this is happening. “Do you know? What was it, drugs or something?”

“I,” Tweek sloshes back another taste of the alcohol. “I don’t know. He told me bees.” Tweek shrugs. 

“Bees?”

“Uh huh.”

“If that isn’t the dumbest thing.” Tweek begins to cry again and he’s not sure why his eyes still have anything left to give. The whole situation is so surreal with Craig’s dad is patting him on the back, albeit hesitantly but the gesture is still unnaturally there. It surprises the hell out of Tweek.

* * *

 

 

Tweek’s back in the evening, when the sun has turned the sky into an ugly fuschia blue. The wind kicks up his throat and dries out his bones. No one else is around. The ground is freshly churned dirt and Craig’s underneath it all. Tweek sits at the site, opens his thermos and leans against the stone. Craig is the first one buried on his family’s plot. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Mr. Tucker was supposed to die of liver failure. Craig was supposed to go with Tweek to Alaska. They were supposed live, at least a little while longer and never come back to this shithole.

_ You could say hello. It’s only polite.  _

“Hello.” Tweek mutters.

_ Hey, man. _

“Who killed you?”

_ That’s all you think about lately. I miss our jokes, Tweek.  _

“It’s hard to laugh n-now that you’re, that you’re  _ dead _ . They think that I did it.”

_ That’s bullshit, isn’t it?  _

“Of course it’s bullshit, right? I didn’t, I would never.”

_ It doesn’t matter what happened. It’s not important. I’ll wake up soon. _

“You’re  _ dead _ . You’re never going to wake up again.” 

_ I still miss you. I still listen to your heart when you breathe.  _

“You never did that.”

_ I meant to. I meant to do a lot of things. I did a lot of things that I never meant to do. I never meant to hurt anyone, though, through it all. I never meant to hurt anyone.  _

“What did you do?”

_ It doesn’t matter. They’ll wake up, soon enough _ . 

“I saw your dad today.” Tweek blurts. 

_ What did he say to you? _

“He said he was sorry.”

_ I don’t buy that. _

“He seemed upset. I don’t know. He asked me if I knew what was in the can.”

_ Oh _ .

“He got really drunk, eventually. They had to carry him out. Like, like you. You know? How bad you were in college.”

_ I’m nothing like him _ .

“Were. You were nothing like him.”

_ I got sober _ .

“Yes. You did.”

_ And then I fell asleep. _

“And then you died.”

_ Something happened in between. I don’t want you to rot in jail for it.  _

“What did you do?” The ghost in his head is gone and Tweek realizes he’s talking to himself, to a hunk of rock and a corpse rotting six feet down in the ground. It’s such a sad feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this chapter guys. i still don't know where i'm headed but i really appreciate comments with critiques and concerns, prompts even, whatever you thought was working for it versus not. hopefully, this story's gonna wrap up real soon. thanks dudes also i'm sorry if i bummed you out a lot. the next chapter is gonna be another flashback so it should be kind of funny? <3


	8. March, 2000

_ March, 2000 _

“ _ Because _ , Tweek, it just works like that. I don’t know.”

“ _ Faces  _ don’t just, just peel off, man! It’s madness!” 

“Well, they do in  _ Raiders _ .”

“Y-yeah, but, I dunno, man! The whole thing irks me.”

“It’s supposed to irk you. The guy’s face is coming off.”

“Y-yeah, but like, the r-realism, you know!”

“The  _ realism _ of the situation is what bothers you?”

“W-well, the lack of it.” 

“You’re a riot.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tweek grumbles and picks at his jacket. “Have you seen Clyde lately?”

“Why would I see  _ that _ asshole?” Craig’s face turns sour. Nah, his whole mood turns sour. “Did _you_ see him?”

“He stopped by the, uh, the shop.”

“Did he say anything to you?” 

“Like  _ what _ ?”

“What did he say to you?”

“He just wanted a coffee, man!”

“He didn’t tell you anything else?”

“Why are you being so,  _ ngh _ , intense, dude?” Craig frowns and faces the drive in’s screen again.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t even, don’t even get why you and Clyde aren’t friends anymore. Was it all because of that stupid fight last year?”

“It’s complicated.” Craig says after a long moment of sitting quietly. Tweek gives him an odd look.

“Sounds like a big misunderstanding to me.”

“It’s not, Tweek. It’s not.”

“You’re always so, so fucking,  _ gah _ , b-buttoned up! ”

“Buttoned up? What does that mean?” Craig asks, cracking a smile. Tweek glares.

“It means you keep a lot of secrets, douche! I tell you  _ so _ much, Craig.”

“This isn’t,” Craig kicks his feet around. “Very easy to talk about.”

“What? You think that  _ my _ problems are?!”

“No, I don’t think that.” Craig sighs thoughtfully. 

“Then, then  _ what _ ?” Tweek scoffs. “It’s not like  _ I’m  _ in any place to judge you.” 

“It’s never gone down well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Clyde knows some things he shouldn’t. The bastard should mind his own damn business.”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“You asked?” 

“Of course I did! I dunno, Craig. I miss hanging out with him. He’s funny. We all used to be so close.” Tweek hums again. “We barely see Token, too. I just wanna know what happened.”

“Why don’t you just ask me?”

“I mean, what do you think I’m  _ trying _ to do here? You’re not telling me anything. Are you in trouble? Did you h-hurt someone? I-it’s okay, you can tell me. Are you, are you,” Tweek pulls the keys out of the ignition and the radio stops playing Indiana Jones. The silence is a lot for Craig. Tweek whispers, leaning in: “Dealing drugs?” Craig can’t really breathe properly whenever Tweek decides to do this.

“Tweek, no. I’m not dealing drugs.” Craig has to look away from those eyes.

“Well, what is it, man?” Tweek puts his hand on Craig’s shoulder, hesitantly. He means it to be comforting, but he’s shaking a little bit like a dying moth. “You c-can talk to me,” Craig shrugs off Tweek’s hand, because he’s not supposed to be thinking about these things. Tweek frowns. He looks confused and frustrated. “What the fuck’s up with you? Why are you being pissy?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Craig cringes. “Look, Tweek, it’s not important. I’m working on it. Let’s just,” Craig clears his throat and looks straight ahead. “Enjoy the movie.”

“Ugh, I, I can’t. I gotta get some air, man.” Tweek opens the old truck’s door and walks out into the woods. Craig doesn’t watch him. He knows he’ll come back eventually. He always does. 

Craig holds onto his tin can and wishes that he could be someone he’s not supposed to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this might be the second to last chapter?? i have no idea what this thing is about guys lol. if you have a prompt something you wanna see (seriously, you can just comment like blind characters or prickly pear loving characters), please let me know and i will give it a go! i'm trying to go out of my comfort zones here and write things i don't normally. sorry this chapter's short. the next one isn't really hahah. 
> 
> thanks for reading this garble. :3


	9. October 1997

_October, 1997_

“Who do you think is out to get you now?”

“I can _feel_ it, man, d-don’t try to t-tell me it’s not, _agh_ _Jesus_ , n-not real!”

“I’m not denying it,” Craig says. “You must be so tortured.”

“Y-yeah,” Tweek sighs and it feels like he’s releasing thunder. “It’s r-really, it’s fucking _scary_.” He flinches.

“I’m sorry.”

“I-it’s not y-you, it’s not your fault.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“C-can I? I m-mean, are your parents, a-are they home?”

“Just my mom.” Tweek paces in the backyard and scratches his wrist. A rash is forming.

“Y-your mom hates me!”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Y-yes, yes, she does! Sh-she totally does. She’d, sh-she’d give me up to him!” Tweek twitches violently. Craig walks up to him.

“Clyde’s already inside. Token, too.”

“I, I d-didn’t know th-they were here.”

“They just invited themselves and a pack of beer.”

“O-oh.”

“I don’t hold much value in what my mom says. You shouldn’t either.”

“Sh-she really fucking hates me, man.”

“So? She married my dad, didn’t she? What good decisions have they made? I can’t think of many.”

“Y-yeah, but he’s, th-they’re your parents, dude!”

“I’m very aware of that, Tweek.” Craig smiles and points to the door. “We don’t have to walk by her. She doesn’t have to know you’re here, if you want. She’s going out soon, anyway.”

“W-what for?”

“I didn’t listen.” Craig shrugs, but Tweek’s pretty sure he’s lying. He’s pretty sure his sense are lying to him, too but he’s also sure that dude in the old Toyota van is stalking him. It’s the same one that he saw a couple months ago, only he got away from the inside. He can’t believe he got away from the inside. “Come upstairs with me? I don’t want to hear Clyde talk about girls anymore by myself.”

“D-don’t you, _ngh_ , don’t you like them?”

“Clyde’s an ignorant douche and Token’s a little pretentious, but I guess so. They’re friends. Sure. Sure, I like them.”

“N-no, no, I mean, girls!” Craig blinks. He pulls open the door to his house.

“What the fuck are you on?” He settles with, turning away from Tweek. “Sheesh, you’re ridiculous, Tweek.” Tweek follows him, after what seems like a lot of deliberation. They go up the stairs, to Craig’s room. Token’s laughing at some dumb remark Clyde’s made. Craig pushes the door open and slaps Clyde’s hand away from a bar of chocolate sitting on his desk. “Don’t you dare.”

“You see, Tweek? See what a prick he is? See what we’ve had to put up with?” Clyde asks. Token sticks out his hand as high five and Tweek does so tentatively.

“How you doin’, Tweek? You look stressed.” Token comments.

“I, I,” Tweek sits on the floor and pulls his hands together. “If, if I had a f-fucking noose, everything would be f-fine.” Tweek says, a little violently. The room has gone pretty silent. “Wh-what? T-too much?” Tweek asks them all. He smiles wryly at Clyde. “Hit m-me, Clyde, g-give me some goddamn booze.” Craig frowns. Clyde hands him a can. Craig doesn’t say anything, even though he wants to. “What, wh-what are we doing?” Token coughs.

“Uh, Clyde was just telling us about his good time with Bebe.”

“Y-yeah?” Tweek asks, taking a long gulp. Everyone watches Tweek until he wipes his mouth and looks back at everyone, eyes jumping. “What?!”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Clyde says, arms up. Tweek rolls his eyes.

“So, y-you, you and Bebe.” Clyde nods.

“She took me to the cleaners, I swear.”

“Clyde, you fucking dipshit, you don’t even know what that means.” Craig says.

“Do too.”

“You’re not married to her. You didn’t divorce her, so she didn’t swindle you out of all your money. You’re still going out, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, next Saturday.” Clyde smiles smugly, avoiding Craig’s judgement. Tweek moves his can around so the liquid swishes. He stares at it.

“Aw-awesome.” Tweek says, a bit bitterly. No one else picks up on it, besides Craig. But he doesn’t say anything.

“You know, Bebe has a cousin in Denver. She’s coming to town soon. Wendy's got Token fucking whipped so either of you two want a date?” Clyde directs at Tweek and Craig. Token flips Clyde off and shakes his head. “She’s _very_ spicey.”

“Spicey? The fuck, Clyde?”

“She’s smoking, okay? That better, Craig?”

“I don’t date.” Craig says simply.

“Oh, you’re _such_ a goddamn saint.” Clyde rolls his eyes. Craig flips him off. “Come on, _one_ of you has to take me up on this! Once in a lifetime here. You gotta see her. Tweek? You _really_ gotta see her.” Clyde starts gesturing lewdly to himself to describe her various attributes. “She’s gorgeous, too, you know, and by the way she dresses, you can just tell she gives it all free. No strings.”

“I, I n-need strings.” Tweek mumbles, playing with the strings on his fingers, thinking about how he can escape the van again, should the night go the way he's hoping it won't.

“Come on, Tweek, it’ll be really fun! You can finally,” Clyde winks and nudges him. “Pop your cherry.”

“I, I, don’t, _jesus,_ Clyde, don’t f-fucking touch me!” The beer spills everywhere, including all over Tweek’s clothes. Tweek jumps around. “A-ah, shit, fuck.” He mutters. He starts scratching at his wrists.

“Whoa, Tweeker. I didn’t mean to rile you.” Clyde says. Tweek knows that van is right outside the door, he can feel it. He has to go.

“I, I g-gotta go,” Tweek stomps down the stairs and trips, stumbling into Ruby, Craig’s sister. She kind of hates him and Tweek’s pretty sure it has something to do with his screeching voice. Or the things he says. Or how much time Craig makes for him, especially when he freaks out like he’s close to doing tonight. “Agh, _f-fuck_ , I’m s-so sorry!” She looks at him surprised briefly.

“Tweek?” She asks, before turning up her nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“ _Ngh_ , f-fuck, n-no! I mean, m-mean yes,” He mumbles. “B-but, I’m not, I d-didn’t, I---”

“Can’t you make a complete sentence, ever?”

“I, I, I’m _t-trying_.” He grits out.

“How are your parents?” Ruby asks, coolly. “It’s been a _long_ time since I’ve seen them.”

“H-huh?” Tweek asks dumbly, instead of saying _don’t talk down to me_ . “They, they’re _fine_. I g-gotta, gotta go. I’m, I’m s-sorry.” Craig walks down the stairs and Ruby glares at him like she’s pissed. Tweek can tell. He doesn’t realize his rash is bleeding until he feels something wet on his hands.

“You don’t want dinner?” Craig asks Tweek. “I think we have pasta.”

“Tweek has to leave.” Ruby states. Craig narrows his eyes at her.

“Don’t you, too?” He asks. She walks past him, to the back door. He watches her leave and shakes his head. Craig looks over at Tweek. He puts a hand on his shoulder. Tweek flinches. “Clyde and Token want to go to some party now.”

“O-oh, y-yeah, okay, I’ll, I’ll see you Monday, m-man.” Tweek starts to leave and Craig laughs.

“No, Tweek. Do you want to stay? I’m not going out. We can watch _Ghostbusters_ or something.” Tweek looks around, looks to the outdoors and shudders, thinking about the van.

“I-it’s, it’s fucking cold in the v-van.”

“You’re never cold.” Craig frowns.

“I-in the van, I am.”

“Can you stay?” Craig asks, unsure of what else to say.

“M-maybe. I g-guess.” Tweek agrees. Craig smiles, but bites it down.

“Cool.” He says and waits for Tweek to join him before he starts walking back up the stairs. He opens the door to his room.

“Hey! You decided to come back!” Clyde shouts, loudly, obnoxiously and probably more than buzzed. Craig kicks him a little too harshly to be kidding. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Nothing, just stomping out the asshole bug, that’s all.”

“You shithead.” Clyde pouts into his can.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You excited to go out? Have some fun?” Token asks Tweek. Tweek shakes his head and sits down on the floor, leaning against the end of Craig’s bed.

“I,” He begins, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I’m, t-too much.”

“I’m not going.” Craig says, in an attempt to save Tweek from freaking out. He lies down on his bed and picking up a tennis ball, tossing it to himself. Clyde gasps.

“Like hell! We’re going to have a good time, _all of us_ ,” Clyde looks around spreading his arms and nodding. “And Tweek is gonna make a couple new friends; vodka and beer pong. Now, let’s go.”

“I don’t feel like standing in a room full of drunk and loud teenagers.”

“Robot,” Token shakes his head. “You don’t have to stand. You can sit,” Token adds. “Or lie down, as Clyde will be spending most of his evening.” Craig shakes his head.

“Nah, you guys go. I’m gonna stay and watch some crappy 80’s movie with my buddy here,” Craig gestures to Tweek, who’s sitting quietly but fluttering his shoulders like a wet moth. “We’re going to eat pasta or whatever’s in the cupboard that has directions. You’re welcome to join us.”  

“No thanks. Sounds like a date night.” Clyde scoffs. Craig tenses and stops tossing the ball.

“I’m not that way.” Craig says seriously.

“Seems like you might be,” Clyde begins, meaning it as a joke. He thinks about it, though, why would any _sane_ guy toss out a date with Bebe’s cousin? He stands and looks at both of them. “Wait, are you two, like, are you _fairies_?” Clyde asks, a loss for any other words. Craig frowns and looks away.

“Don’t be a moron, Clyde,” Craig growls. Tweek’s unusually silent and still. “I’m sure that party isn’t going to go on all night. Do you need help finding the door?” Clyde just stares at the two of them, like he’s made a big revelation. Token looks mildly interested, rubbing at his chin.

“Well, why aren’t you taking out Bebe’s cousin? Either of you!”

“Tweek’s having a rough night, leave him out of this. He’s got too much on his mind to care about girls.” Tweek’s staring, dead eyes and Clyde seems to back off.

“Well, what’s _your_ excuse, then?”

“I don’t date.”

“She doesn’t, either. She just wants a good time.”

“Clyde.” Craig warns.

“What, Craig, _what_ ? You _must_ be a fucking fag---” Craig gets up.

“Give me her number.”

“You sure your _boyfriend_ won’t mind?” Clyde sneers. Tweek leaves the room. Craig watches out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t,” Craig starts. “Christ, Clyde, you shithead. Just get me her goddamn number, okay?” Clyde smirks and shows off empty pockets.

“Don’t have pen.” Craig gives Clyde a shove.

“Oh, fuck off. Get out of here. Tell me Monday.” Clyde shakes his head, laughing, still feeling buzzed and heads out the door. Token follows, seeming slightly bored by the whole situation.

“You’re fucking weird, bro.” Clyde says. Craig follows them out, to make sure they leave and looks around for Tweek after the front door shuts. He finds him sitting in the kitchen, staring at an empty glass.

“They left, buddy,” Craig says, trying not to think about everything he shouldn’t. Trying not to think about stupid things that Clyde does. “You want something to drink?”

“It’s p-poison, f-fucking poisoned.”

“I promise it’s not.”

“Y-you can’t know that, how can you know _th-that_?!” Tweek screeches, intensely. He pushes himself away from the table. Craig sees that rash on his wrist is kind of bloody now and he looks at it a little disgusted.

“Why are you doing that to yourself?”

“I d-don’t, don’t know.” Tweek mutters, a little distraught.

“You should clean it up. I have,” Craig points to his room. “I can help.”

“I want, eugh _jesus_ ,” Tweek squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at them. “I d-don’t want to die yet.” He whispers and the room is eerily quiet.

“That’s a good start,” Craig sighs and pulls a box of crackers out of the cupboard. “Guess this is all we have. Come on.”

“D-did I tell you wh-where he lives?” Tweek asks, staring straight ahead at nothing Craig can tell.

“Where who lives?”

“Th-the man. H-he lives in a, uh, an abandoned bomb sh-shelter. H-he runs casinos.”

“How do you know this?” Craig settles on, because he’s not sure what else to say. He doesn’t believe anything that Tweek’s telling him is real but he knows Tweek believes it.

“I, I,” Tweek furrows his eyebrows. “I w-was in the van f-for hours.”

“Can I fix that?” Craig gestures to Tweek’s wrist. “Please. You’re going to get infected.”

“I, uh, I, ok-kay. Fine.” They go back upstairs and the room feels lighter, but it’s still a depressing sight. Craig shifts through his drawers until he pulls out a little jar. Tweek peers over his shoulder, sees that oil can resting amongst all his clothes. He frowns. “Isn’t th-that b-bad for your bees? T-to live in there?”

“Huh?” Craig shakes his head, once he sees where Tweek’s pointing. “No, they do good in the dark. That’s where they are at their best. They don’t do well in the light.” Tweek raises his eyebrow.

“H-how do they get their, _ngh_ , pollen, then?”

“Do you have to be such a smartass? They’re magic bees. I don’t know. I don’t get how it works. They do well in there, let’s just leave them alone.”

“F-fine.” Tweek says, disbelievingly.

“Give me your wrist.”

“It d-doesn’t hurt.”

“I highly doubt that, but okay.” Craig starts putting peroxide over the rash and Tweek hisses.

“ _Fuck_.” Craig laughs.

“Yeah, ‘ _it doesn’t hurt_ ’ my ass.”

“I-it shouldn’t h-hurt _your_ ass, mine’s on th-the line! I’m the one writhing here!”

“I’m sorry. It’ll feel better soon,” Craig pulls out some old looking tube of antibacterial medicine. “Baby.” Craig mutters as he starts putting the stuff on.

“‘M not a b-baby.”

“I’m just messing with you.”

“I, I, know th-that,” Tweek says, unconvincingly. He watches as Craig pulls out some kind of gauze wrap. “H-hey, how can you do this so fast?” Craig concentrates on Tweek’s wrist.

“Practice.”

“O-oh,” Tweek says, dumbly. “Fr-from what?” Craig doesn’t look up.

“Bees sting.”

“D-don’t they die, too, when they sting you? H-how can you have any b-bees left?”

“You’re going to make a great detective someday.” Craig says instead of answering, as he finishes wrapping his wrist.

“With, w-with this fucking s-stutter?”

“You can be _anything_. Even an astronaut. Isn’t that what your books always tell you?”

“What do you th-think I read? Picture books? My b-books are about the Cold War. Economics. Th-they, they don’t really talk about dreams, C-Craig.”

“Don’t knock picture books. They do okay. Maybe,” Craig sighs. “If you focus on the good more, the bad stuff won’t always feel like it’s getting you.” Tweek hops on Craig’s bed.

“Yeah? H-how, how do you handle it?” Tweek starts pulling at the bandage and Craig stops him. “Ngh, sorry. I didn’t, didn’t r-realize.”

“It’s okay.” Craig says and sits next to him.

“How do you d-deal, man?”

“With what?” Tweek flops down on the bed.

“With, w-with everything!” He yells, exasperatedly. “B-being a kid, p-politics, _love_ , death, alcoholics! H-how, how do you deal?” Tweek asks earnestly, leaning up to look at Craig unblinkingly, who’s tossing him a strange glance.

“I don’t listen to the news because it depresses me. I don’t think about death because I’d want to kill myself for being such a cliche.”

“That’s, that’s bullshit. Everyone th-thinks about death. Especially us kids. Wh-what, you don’t think about that, either, do you?”

“About what?”

“About being a kid, man! Th-these are shitty times.”

“They’re always shitty times.”

“I, I can’t speak for the 70s,” Tweek says thoughtfully. He taps his stomach. “Are you r-really g-going out, with, with Bebe’s cousin?”

“Guess so.” Craig says, looking at his clock. It reads a stately 11:53.

“I b-bet she’s pretty.” Tweek says, picking at his shirt.

“Probably.” Craig says, lacking enthusiasm. Tweek opens his mouth and shuts it a few times. Craig watches, waiting for him to decide to say something. “What?”

“I-it doesn’t sound like you r-really care! About love or _anything_. You’re d-devoid of emotions, m-man.”

“Who said anything about love?”

“N-no one, no one.” Tweek mutters and bites at his fingernails.

“I don’t even know the girl. I haven’t met her. I’m neutral.”

“R-right, but, man, if she’s anything like Bebe, sh-she’s probably…” Tweek says and doesn’t finish his thought.

“Probably what?”

“I don’t know.” Tweek frowns. “I, I just b-bet she’s _r-really_ pretty.”

“Do _you_ want to go out with her?”

“N-no!” Tweek shouts, flustered.

“Why do you care that much, then?”

“I, I,” Tweek fumbles with his arms and starts pulling at his bandage. “I d-don’t know.”

“Don’t do that,” Craig warns him. He pulls Tweek’s hand off and gives him the bar of chocolate. “Play with this instead.” Tweek takes the chocolate and starts breaking it up into small pieces methodically. Craig picks up the tennis ball and twirls it in his hands.

“Craig,” Tweek mumbles, looking a little wide eyed and nervous, staring at the chocolate. “I th-think, think I’m in love.”

“Oh.” Craig chucks the tennis ball at the wall and bounces it back. The sound makes Tweek flinch. “Is it Bebe?” 

“No, n-not Bebe. K-kinda the opposite of Bebe,” Tweek mumbles and eyes Craig. He sighs. “Wh-what do I do? H-how do I know for s-sure?”

“Well, tell me,” Craig throws the ball with more force and the noise it makes when it hits the wall is near deafening. “Who it is. Wendy?””

“Craig, I,” Tweek starts and shuts his mouth. He frowns. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why’d you ask me, then?”

“I, I th-thought you m-might know! I d-don’t, I c-can’t sleep. Not, not because of just this but night t-terrors. My st-stomach’s always _flying_.”

“That’s a weird image.”

“Y-you’re a weird image.”

“A weird image who has a date.”

“Y-yeah.” Tweek says quietly.

“Why don’t you ask her out? Maybe it’s not love, maybe it’s just love adjacent. Maybe she’s a prick.”

“Definitely a prick,” Tweek smiles. “It’s n-not simple.”

“Nothing ever is with you.” Craig rolls his eyes.

“G-guess it d-doesn’t matter,” Tweek looks at the chocolate in his hands, which is completely shredded now. He hands it back to Craig in its' paper wrapping. “Sorry.” Craig picks up a small shaving of the chocolate and puts it in his mouth.

“I like it better this way.”

“I do too.”

“She’d be lucky. You know that, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Your love interest there, she’d be lucky if you asked her out.”

“O-oh, I, uh,” Tweek reddens and shifts. He taps his hands. “Thanks?”

“Don't thank me. It’s just you, Tweek. You’re _special_ ,” Craig says hesitantly before coughing, getting up and setting the chocolate on his desk. He checks the time and grabs two coats, tossing one Tweek. “If we leave now, we can probably still catch the second half of Indy.” Tweek slumps in the coat. He gets up, jittering a little. The van is still on his mind, he’s sure it always will be, but it doesn’t seem as bad as long as he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this guys!! prompts are really helpful if you wanna figure this out with me on how it's gonna end lol. i really appreciate criticism, too, so please go ahead and do that!! sorry this one's kind of a depressing story? i don't really know how to continue it and i'm thinking of ditching it. i have one other chapter that's almost done but that one's even longer than this. i dunno. thanks for everyone who has commented!! <3


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